“But how do we get in?” I asked, confused.
Viktor glanced nervously to my father, then to the Pakhan. My father frowned, but answering my question said, “Each gulag can enter up to three of its champions to fight in the tournament.” He swallowed. “I was contacted by an old colleague to ask if I had any fighters I wanted to enter.”
Pure adrenaline surged through my body. I stepped forward, my fingers twitching, and asked, “And you said ‘yes,’ yes?”
Viktor slowly nodded. “Yes, but better still”—he paused—“my contact, him and his three brothers work for Arziani. His brothers are guards in the pit.”
Valentin began rocking beside me and hissed, “Wraiths.”
Viktor paled but shook his head. “No. They were taken and made to work there to repay their father’s gambling debts. Just as I was.” Viktor faced me again. “Only Abel was repaying the debt as a driver, like me. He has told me that because he couldn’t pay the money back in time, they took his brothers, too. They made them Wraiths and made Abel move to their officer ranks.” Excitement flared in Viktor’s eyes. “They all hate Master Arziani and want out. I’m sure they can help us once we’re inside, if we make it worth their while.” Viktor paused, then flicking a frustrated look to Valentin, he added, “Not all of the guards are there because they believe in Arziani’s cause. In fact, Abel told me he believes a good thirty percent or more are there to repay gambling debts—their own or someone in their family’s.”
“So that’s our way in?” I queried, and crossed my arms over my chest. “We go in as fighters.” I glanced behind me to Valentin and Zaal. “We fight in the tournament and find a way to kill Arziani from inside?”
“We can’t get in any other way,” Viktor said. Valentin walked beside me; a new energy seemed to be running through his veins. “He’s right. We won’t get in the pit ourselves.” He glanced to me, and I could see his need for blood shining back at me. “But we can fight. We can go in as gulag warriors.”
“You’re not a fighter,” Zaal said from behind. When I glanced back, Zaal was frowning. He was glaring at Valentin. Valentin was seething on the spot as he glared right back.
“I can fucking fight,” Valentin snapped.
Zaal stepped forward and pointed at me. “Luka was the champion of his gulag. I fought as a prototype of Jakhua. We are fighters like those in the pit. We were raised to do nothing else. You were raised to torture and kill. You are different. You’re not a death-match fighter.”
Valentin’s lips rolled back from his teeth as he squared up to Zaal. “I can kill in more inventive ways than you, Kostava. I can kill you in ways you can’t even imagine.” He looked to me and said, “I’m going.”
“He’ll be a liability,” Zaal argued, as Valentin practically radiated death on the spot.
“That’s my sister in there! She’s that dick’s whore, and you expect to go without me? Not happening.”
“He knows you,” I said, then looked to Zaal. “He knows you, too.”
They both looked to each other, then at me. “I’m going,” they said in unison. I exhaled deeply.
Facing Viktor, I stated, “He doesn’t know me. No one in that pit will know me. My gulag was in Alaska. From what we can tell, once it was emptied when I escaped, it never reopened. I’m the one they don’t know.”
“Luka,” my father spoke. I turned toward him. His face was red with frustration. I knew why. He didn’t want me to go.
Viktor stepped forward. “We need to submit three fighters or none at all, Luka.” He waved his hand in Zaal and Valentin’s direction. “I’ve thought of how to get them in.”
“How?” Zaal asked.
Shrugging, Viktor said, “We enter under a fake name. Not the Volkov or Tolstoi dungeon, but a decoy. Abel and his brothers will ensure we get on the list without being checked.” He explained, “We can say that our men bought these two from the males that used to guard them. Zaal from one of Jakhua’s and Valentin from the Mistress.”
“The Mistress was his sister,” I argued. “He’ll kill Valentin the minute he sees him.”
“I’m going!” Valentin thundered. I held out my hand for him to be quiet. He silenced, but his lips curled in annoyance.
“Arziani hated his sister. She was the bane of his existence. Abel said that when Arziani got word of her death, he laughed. He knew he was better off without her in his life.” He flashed a worried look to Valentin, but continued. “Abel said that the only thing he cared about was the female mona being held by the Mistress.” He nodded his head in Valentin’s direction and clarified: “His sister. Now he has her, he doesn’t care about the rest.”
My pulse raced at the possibility of getting the opportunity to fight again. But more important, at killing Arziani and ending this ring of slavery once and for all. At putting an end to kids being sold like slabs of meat, being tested upon like rats, forced to fight and forget they’re humans. Nothing more than killing machines.
My mind circled with the information. Looking to Valentin, I said, “If you come, we’ll have to teach you how to fight for the pit. We’ll have to get you trained with a weapon.”
“I have my picanas,” he replied.
“Guns and cattle prods aren’t allowed in the rings,” Zaal replied.
Valentin’s eyebrow raised, and he said, “But short metal spears will be. I’m used to the feel of them in my hand through using the prods. They’re a part of me. I can be just as efficient without their electrical charge as I am with it.”
Zaal turned to me and nodded. Facing them both, I announced, “If we do this, if we all go in, we may not all make it out alive.”
A shroud of silence descended around us. Valentin was the first to step forward and speak. “I’m going in. That asshole made me this … this thing I am today. And he has my sister. I’m going in. And I won’t die. I won’t die until his heart stops.”
I nodded, then looked to Zaal. Arms crossed over his chest, he confided, “I don’t want to fight again. I want my life to be with my Talia. But…” He sighed and I saw his inner demons shine through. “But Anri and I were tested upon there. Made to fight in the childhood pits.” He shook his head. “Until Arziani and this Blood Pit are destroyed, we’ll never be truly free, will we? Everything each of us has been through stemmed from this enterprise.” Zaal looked to my father and Kirill. “Arziani is bigger than even the Volkov Bratva. If we are to keep our standing here, if we are to give our females good lives, safe lives, we have to stop this male now. Before he comes for us. Let’s take the fight to him.” Zaal’s face clouded with the need to kill, and he concluded, “before he comes for us.”
Every word Zaal said hit my heart. I turned to Viktor. “When is the tournament?”
“Four weeks,” he replied, “It lasts four days. Two-man matches until four fighters reach the final. No man will be paired with a gulag-mate unless they meet in the final. Then it’s a four-man battle for the championship. Winner gets his freedom. Arziani’s tournament prize is freedom.” I raised my eyebrow at that. Freedom for males captured and forced to fight would make them fight that much harder. It would make them that much more difficult to beat.
“We all need to make it into the final battle,” I said, and looked to Valentin and Zaal. They both nodded. “We can use the next few weeks to understand the pit and plan how to attack.” I looked back to Viktor and said, “Contact your male. We need to be sure we have them as our allies, then use their influence when we’re in there with those not committed to Arziani and his cause. Promise them whatever they want. Money, a life here in New York, anything, just get us into the Blood Pit. We’ll take it from there.”
Viktor nodded and rushed out the Dungeon’s door. Zaal and Valentin came to stand beside me. Zaal laid his hand on my shoulder. When I met his eyes, he nodded his head, no words were necessary. I could see the conflict haunting his eyes—as much as I could feel my own.